Introduction to Infinity

Isn’t it cute? A vintage 1950’s Tommee Tippee sipper cup exactly like the one my mother said was mine. Not my older sister’s. Not my baby sister’s. Mine. The one I drank from even after I didn’t use the mouthpiece anymore. The only one Mom ever offered me.

The one I couldn’t look at because it scared me to death.

The innocent sipper.

I used to look at it. When I was a toddler, even at the worldly age of two, I could face that little Tommee Tippee with a smile.

One day, when I was three, I looked at what he was doing. Really looked. With a penetrating stare and eyes that grew wider and wider.

He was drinking. He was drinking from a cup like mine. He was drinking from a cup with his face on it… drinking from a cup with his face on it… drinking from a cup with his face on it… drinking from a cup with his face on it… drinking from a cup with his face on it… drinking from a cup with his face on it…

My heart and my breath started racing. Just like they did back then.

I knew with every cell of my being, every philotic thread connecting me and my soul to everything that is and everything that isn’t, that this went on

F…O….R…..E……V…….E……..R………

I was looking directly into Infinity. I could see Eternity.

Mom had told me not to look directly at the sun, but she hadn’t warned me about Infinity and Eternity. She never hinted that if I could see them, They. Could. See. Me. And that moment, my friends, is when I truly began to become who I am.

The infinite regress, the dizzying abyss… My grandmother had a similar picture on her wall (not Tommee Tippee, who was and is unknown to us) and I remember being more fascinated than terrified, wondering where it went and what happened when you got there. Still wondering, in fact.

How old were you when you recognized what you were seeing? Maybe it’s similar to Dr. Tyson’s “spaghetification” as you fall into a black hole. Maybe it IS falling into a black hole. And maybe, just maybe, you come out a white hole at the other end in a Big Bang of creativity

The artist probably thought s/he was encouraging youngsters to drink out of “real” cups: “Look! Tommee has a cup just like you! And you can drink out of it just like he can!” All the while, the artist was actually traumatizing three year olds! Great post, Sue! 🙂

You were obviously an unusual child ;o). As was I. But I turned out to be afraid of my own shadow. Literally. I was always being followed when I was outside. Very scary! That did pass, though. Right about the time that I discovered that there were monsters hiding under my bed. Oh joy! Must have been all of those thwarted shadows….

Well, I got bigger. And then I devised certain rituals. But honestly, even now (!) I cannot let any part of me dangle over the bed. Completely odd, I know. But it’s the writer in me, really. I find her endearing and sometimes a bit annoying, too. 0)

I like to imagine mine is integrated into my life, but then she takes over and doesn’t give a fig for my need to attend to my livelihood. She only journaled during my sailing days — strictly West Coast.